


on with the show

by patrokla



Category: Babyshambles (Band), The Libertines
Genre: Cabinet Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, The Blinding (music video), featuring a deus ex machina in the form of an 'internal locking mechanism', which was not a tag before this moment yikes @me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrokla/pseuds/patrokla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about two fully grown men trying to fit themselves together in what’s really only half of a glass cabinet is that it’s very difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on with the show

**Author's Note:**

> I...I don't know what to say about this. I don't even like writing sex scenes, and yet this exists? Blame the music video. I would've worked in blindfolds but I figured this was bad enough without that.
> 
> Also blame the fact that it's 2 am and I'm punchdrunk with exhaustion for this even being posted, I was planning on letting it languish in the notes app for another three months.
> 
> eta: as is tradition or w/e, locking this to user only in about a week because i am Ashamed

There are a lot of things in his life that Drew feels he could blame Pete Doherty for. Namely, the fact that he’s trapped in a glass display cabinet with all of his bandmates for the foreseeable future, because _someone_ had decided to try the internal locking mechanism (who even knew these things had that?) and now they're all stuck.  
  
It was alright for Adam and Mik, they were both relatively small people, but Drew was squished into the corner because Pete wanted room to stretch his massive legs.  
  
“This is your fault,” Drew tells him for the tenth time.  
  
They’ve been in there for over thirty minutes alone; the camera and set crew had gone to find a locksmith.  
  
“Aw Drew, y’know I didn’t mean any harm,” Pete says in a wheedling tone.  
  
“You never do, that’s the thing,” Drew sighs, leaning his head against one of the walls. It’s suffocatingly hot in the cabinet, just enough air is getting through some broken seal that they won’t literally suffocate, at least not for awhile, but it’s not exactly pleasant.  
  
“You never do, but it still happens, and now here we are.”  
  
He doesn’t want to get upset, because Pete’s awful at handling it, and because one of them has to be the calm collected one. Drew’s good at that, always has been, it’s probably why he’d gravitated towards playing bass. But sometimes it was hard to keep it all together…  
  
An interminable amount of time passes, Pete humming to himself and drumming on the cabinet with his fingers. The crew still isn’t back, and Drew’s a rational person, he is, but there’s a wild seed of doubt that’s slowly growing in his mind. What if they never get back? What if they come back tomorrow because there’s no locksmiths available now, and it’ll be too late because everyone’s already suffocated?  
  
“Pete, for fuck’s sake,” he snaps, when Pete starts tapping on the glass with his dirty fingernails.  
  
“A’right, calm your boots,” Pete says, in an infuriatingly even tone. “Didn’t realize you were that unhappy about this.”  
  
“How could I possibly be happy about this?” Drew asks incredulously.  
  
“I can think of a few ways,” Pete says opaquely, and Drew rolls his eyes and leans his head against the wall again.  
  
He can just make out Mik and Adam talking on the other side of the wall, which has turned out to be surprisingly soundproof. Mik’s probably talking about one of his old bands, or about who he’d played with in the 60s or something.  
  
Well. That’s a bit unfair, Drew knows, but sometimes he really misses Pat. Mik’s alright, but he’s off his head at half of their shows and Drew is tired of having to yell chords into his ear because he’s forgotten them.  
  
Drew’s heard the ‘they really are a shambles’ joke a hundred times, but sometimes he can see why people keep telling it. What sort of band gets themselves locked in a cabinet, really…  
  
“Hey, Drew,” Pete says, and Drew jumps as much as someone can jump when they’re in a cabinet, because Pete says it right in his ear.  
  
He opens his eyes and finds that Pete’s somehow maneuvered his way to Drew’s side of the cabinet and is leaning over him looking massive. He’s staring at Drew with his big eyes, and Drew licks his lips (unconsciously! it’s an unconscious action!).  
  
“What’re you doing?” he manages to ask, because Pete just keeps staring at him.  
  
“I was just wondering, Drew,” Pete says, and Drew narrows his eyes because that’s Pete’s ‘innocent’ voice, the one that lets him get away with far too much.  
  
“I was just wondering if you’ve ever gotten off in a cabinet,” Pete asks, and Drew blinks a few times.  
  
“I haven’t,” he says slowly, and he thinks he knows where Pete’s going with this but. But he can’t possibly be.  
  
“Would you like to?”  
  
What can Drew possibly say to that?  
  
There’s really only one answer to the question when it’s Pete Doherty asking it as he traces the seam of your jeans with one of his massive hands.  
  
Afterwards, Drew can’t remember if he ever actually answered verbally, but what he does remember is making a rather embarrassing noise and hooking one leg around Pete’s to bring him closer.  
  
It’s answer enough, and Pete’s eyes shine with something, something Drew doesn’t recognize, when he realizes he’s allowed.  
  
Drew’s never really been kissed apologetically. Or at least he’s never been kissed and known, just from the feel, that he’s being apologized to. It’s not bad, at least not when Pete does it.  
  
Pete kisses a little clumsily, like he’d learned how to do it one way when he was younger and then never really changed. Drew tries not to think about the fact that he’s being kissed like this because that’s how Carl Barat liked to be kissed, but, well, there it is.  
  
Or maybe there it isn’t, Drew doesn’t really know and doesn’t care to keep thinking about it as he kisses back, nipping Pete’s bottom lip to say _alright, I know you’re sorry, let’s get on with it, yeah?_  
  
And get on with it Pete does.  
  
The thing about two fully grown men trying to fit themselves together in what’s really only half of a glass cabinet is that it’s very difficult. Drew ends up on his back, trying not to make too much noise as Pete bites his collarbone.  
  
Drew’s only wearing a vest and a t-shirt, and it’s all too easy for Pete to push it up, Drew arching his back to give Pete more access.  
  
He feels wanton and exposed by the sounds he bites back as Pete makes his way down Drew’s chest, all warm mouth and swirling tongue. Pete’s hands are scrambling to undo the button on his jeans and pull down the zip, and Drew’s hands have moved to Pete’s hair of their own accord, fingers winding through brown strands.  
  
“Impatient, are you?” Pete says, looking up at him and smiling before pulling at Drew’s jeans, and he isn’t wearing pants, rarely does, which means that Pete’s got his mouth on Drew’s cock before Drew can even think to answer the question. In fact, he doesn’t even remember what the question was. If pressed, he might not remember his own name, because all of the blood seems to have left his brain. If he even has a brain, who knows? Right now he feels like a writhing mass of nerves, every one of which is lit up with pleasure.  
  
Drew’s finding it very difficult to register anything besides the warmth and pressure of Pete’s mouth and the movement of his clever, clever tongue. He’s dimly aware that he needs to stay quiet, although he can’t really recall why, but he can’t tell at all if he’s succeeding.  
  
By the way that one of Pete’s hands moves to cover his mouth (his whole jaw, really, Pete’s hands are huge), he thinks not. Drew’s eyes move wildly and he catches sight of the camera, still set up in front of them, but not recording, surely not recording, and somehow between that and the feeling of Pete’s hand pressed against his mouth, and the other pressing down on one hip for leverage, and his mouth, Drew is pushed over the edge.  
  
It’s a spine-arching, toe-curling orgasm, and Pete keeps his mouth on him all through it, until Drew is trembling from the overstimulation.  
  
He lays there, panting, as Pete pulls away from him, wrinkling his nose as he swallows.  
  
“I hate the taste,” Pete says, “but that would be a bit incriminating to leave around, don’t you think?”  
  
Drew thinks that the picture of debauchery that Pete’s mussed hair and too-red mouth make is probably incriminating enough, but he’s not put himself together enough to say that.  
  
Instead he just says, “Oh.”  
  
Pete laughs, looking smugly satisfied.  
  
“That good?” he asks, and Drew rolls his eyes.  
  
“You know it was, you bastard. Don’t fish for praise.”  
  
Pete laughs again, and it’s quiet for a moment until he says, apropos of nothing, “I hate your hair like this.”  
  
“Is this your idea of pillow talk? Because it’s shit.”  
  
“No, I’m just saying. It’s too short. If it wasn’t I’d probably ask you to blow me, but it’s just too short.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Drew says dryly, finally pulling up his jeans and buttoning them. “Is it bearable if I give you a hand instead, or have you been put off me for life?”  
  
He’s joking, obviously, but the part of him that had given itself to Pete the moment they met, the part that keeps him by Pete’s side no matter what, that part means it quite seriously.  
  
That part sighs in relief when Pete grins and says lazily, “No, I think that’d be alright."  
  
There’s more shuffling about the cabinet then, until Pete’s sitting in-between Drew’s legs, back pressed tightly against his chest.  
  
“You ever done this?” Pete asks as Drew pulls the zip of his already-unbuttoned jeans down.  
  
“What, tossed off a bandmate in a cabinet? Can’t say I have. It may shock you, but I don’t get locked in cabinets often.”  
  
Pete’s huff of laughter turns into a quiet groan as Drew wraps a hand around him.  
  
“It’s a day of firsts for you, then,” Pete says, and Drew has a feeling that Pete sees that as important, somehow. Probably likes being someone’s first something, it’s the Romantic in him. Firsts are rarely forgotten, even if they’re quickly outmatched.  
  
Drew discards any possible response in favor of scraping his teeth across Pete’s neck, continuing to stroke as he sucks on the skin. It’s childish, but he wants this to last a little longer in Pete’s memory than it probably will.  
  
Pete throws his head back, tiny noises escaping his mouth as he tries to move closer to Drew, reduce the already infinitesimal space in between them.  
  
Drew moves his mouth away from Pete’s purpling skin just long enough to say, “Shh, quiet, yeah?” into his ear.  
  
It takes only a few more strokes for Pete to fall apart, shuddering as he comes. He recovers quickly, grabbing Drew’s wrist so he can lick his hand clean, making another face at the taste.  
  
“I could’ve done that,” Drew says, watching Pete’s tongue lave his fingers.  
  
Pete doesn’t say anything, just licks until Drew’s hand is spotless. Then he sighs and leans back against Drew, settling into him.  
  
“That was nice,” he murmurs, sounding half-asleep.  
  
“Just nice?” Drew teases, but Pete’s already out. He’s always been able to fall asleep anywhere, a trait Drew usually envies, especially when their bus is driving through the night and everyone else finds it impossible to get any rest.  
  
This time, though, it means he gets to wrap an arm around Pete’s waist, stick a hand under his shirt just because he can, and commit the moment to memory.  
  
He wonders if they’ll have enough time to go again.

**Author's Note:**

> Is 'calm your boots' even a phrase people use?


End file.
